Finland is pretty cool. There, I’ve said it. I’ve never been there, of course. Goodness, no. I’ve always been put off by the biting perma-winter which apparently shrouds our Scandinavian cousin, and having spoken to a tiny portion of its apparently miserable population I think I’d struggle to keep my over-stimulated mind entertained. But at least Finland has the internet – by law, no less. A recent ruling has made it a legal requirement for citizens to have access to the internet. Finland, for all its frigid horror, has seen what I see: the internet is a necessary service, like water, electricity or the phone. I certainly use the internet far more than I use the telephone. Heck, I use it more than I use water. If I could occasionally wash myself with the internet, Wessex Water would see its revenue drop to the tune of one household.
I have had an all-but-permanent connection to the internet since I ran up my first £250 monthly bill – communicating with depressed Finnish girls in chatrooms, no less – nearly 15 years ago. Instant connection to information isn’t just something I hold dear, it is something I have come to rely upon as an extension of myself. My brain has long since given up actually remembering facts on its own. It has forgotten how. That’s what Google is for, after all.
My inability to think for myself (and the spiffing job I’ve done of covering it up for the past six years) means I’m rather scared about my impending honeymoon, in which myself and my new wife will whisk ourselves away to Florida for a fortnight. Off the grid for two long weeks? It doesn’t bear thinking about. If I don’t have the internet I shall be exposed as a fact-free dullard rather than a man who can divine Jon Bon Jovi’s age (he’s a spritely 47) within seconds, or unearth obscure facts about honey bees (there are 44 varieties, you know) on demand.
I can only presume that the state fondly referred to as ‘America’s Wang’ – which as far as I can see is nothing more than an alligator-infested marsh turned commercial cartoon playground – is in fact an internet wasteland. I have had no confirmation that our accommodation will be internet-enabled, for instance. And I have never once, at least as far as I can recall, communicated with a Floridian in a chatroom. I have seen no evidence that Mickey Mouse has an Ethernet port installed in his backside so that I may download podcasts and check the weather while the other half gives him a nice hug. Captain Jack Sparrow has no doubt amassed a stash of purloined iPhones, but I doubt he’d let me use them. You get the idea.
Besides, do retirees and theme park visitors really need to go online? Surely they’re all in a state of humid brainwashing, shuffling like zombies and purchasing nick-nacks supplied by the Disney Corporation? This hopeless feeling is a new one for me. On every international excursion I have made on behalf of PC Plus I have had a paid-for internet connection in my hotel room, ostensibly for work but realistically for the good of my mental health. I have managed to find some sort of connection on every UK holiday I’ve made; even clunky WAP surfing on my ancient mobile phone did the trick. When I’m dropped off in the land of the free, I expect no such luxury. Perhaps I will find the occasional stream of bits when suckling at Ronald McDonald’s meaty bosom, or visiting with Lord Starbucks. But that’s a vague hope at best. The internet ought to be universal by now, but I really don’t think it will be. Wish me luck, reader, for I am about to be exposed like never before.
